


the hermit

by oryx



Category: Danball Senki
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaito, after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the hermit

_one day._

“Were you coerced?” the man asks. Detective Matsumoto, his badge reads. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, threadbare suit jacket thrown haphazard across the back of his chair. He clearly hasn’t slept well in days, if the bruise-like circles beneath his eyes are any indication. Five o’clock shadow darkens the line of his jaw.

Kaito looks down at the table and says nothing.

The detective sighs, running a weary hand through his hair. “Listen, kid,” he says softly. “I am going to _subtly recommend_ that you say yes. Because if, for whatever reason, you decide to say no… Shit is gonna get a whole lot more complicated from here on out. For you and for everyone else involved. See, by saying ‘no’ – by implying that you chose to ally with the World Savers of your own free will – you would officially be labeled an ‘accessory to terrorism.’ And yeah, you’re a minor, so it’s not like you’d be going to jail. But what I can promise you is a _very_ long interrogation from some people much less understanding than myself. You will not enjoy it. That much I can guarantee. 

“And even after the interrogation is over, they’ll keep an eye on you. They’ll watch your house. They’ll listen in on your phone calls. They’ll read your texts. This will go on for months, until they’re finally satisfied that you don’t pose an immediate threat, but don’t think they’ll just forget about you. They’ll keep your name in their database and their mark will stay on your record and every time you go in for a job interview the boss in charge will give you this weird, worried look as soon as they bring up your personal file. And you can bet your sorry ass you probably won’t be getting that job. So. With all that said, let me ask you one more time, kid. _Were you coerced?_ Yes? Or no?”

“… Yes,” Kaito says, and watches his hands curl into fists in his lap; feels anger simmering hot beneath his skin (anger at himself for being so stupid, at Seledy for being too weak to see his mission through, at Nozomi and Bunta and Tadashi for being so sickeningly kind). 

But then, strangely enough, it vanishes. And in its place is instead a kind of indescribable, aching tiredness. All he wants is to lay his head down and sleep.

“People only have so much of each emotion in them,” someone told him, many years ago. He can’t remember who. Their face is blurred and indistinct in his mind. “Doesn’t matter if it’s happy, sad, or mad. You wrap yourself up in just one for long enough and you’re bound to run out.”

He wonders if that’s true. He wonders what’s left for him now.

(He’s been angry for so long that he’s forgotten everything else.)

.

His mother leaps from her seat as soon as he’s escorted from the holding room, her expression one of pure relief. Her bag falls to the floor and she doesn’t seem to notice. She runs up to him and wraps her arms tight around his shoulders, pressing her lips against his hair. Her breath is coming quick and anxious. He can feel her trembling.

“Oh my god, Kaito,” she whispers. “I was so, so worried… Are you alright?? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No,” he says quietly.

After a long moment she pulls back to look at him. Her eyes are narrowed. “Are you sure? Because you sound a bit… off. And that would be perfectly understandable! I mean, you’ve been through so much, if you need to talk to someone I’m sure I could arrange it, there’s a coworker of mine whose daughter goes to this therapist who specializes in helping kids your age and she really recommends him – ”

“I’m fine,” Kaito says, cutting her off. His words come out sharper than he intends. “Really. I don’t need to talk to anyone.”

His mother studies his face for a time, lips curving into a contemplative frown. Her hands are still gripping his shoulders like she’s afraid to let go, like she’s worried he might fade away if she does.

“Okay,” she says finally. She sounds entirely unconvinced, but nods her agreement all the same, forcing a smile as she reaches up to cup his cheek. “Whatever you want. If you change your mind just tell me, alright? I just want what’s best for you.”

“…Yeah,” he says, and swallows against the sudden tightness in his throat. “Yeah, sure.”

Thankfully, the detective walks past just then, distracting his mother long enough for Kaito to compose himself.

“Excuse me,” she says. Detective Matsumoto looks up from his phone and seems to make the connection immediately, glancing between Kaito and his mother with an inscrutable glint in his eye. “Sorry to bother you, but is there some reason why I had to come here to pick up my son…? On the news it seemed like most of the kids were being picked up at the harbor… Why was he the only one brought to the police station?”

“…We’re taking statements,” the detective says, hardly missing a beat. He gives her a faint, reassuring smile. “We need eye-witness testimonies from most if not all of the students, and your son was the first to volunteer. He’s been a great asset to the beginnings of our investigation.”

Kaito feels something twist inside him, then, sharp and jagged and hot. He struggles to keep his face blank. His mother turns back to look at him and seems surprised, skeptical even, because she knows him all too well. She knows his distaste for authority. She knows what it’s like to ask him questions – “akin to pulling teeth,” she said once, with a kind of weary fondness. She knows that a “good Samaritan” – a nice young man stepping forward to do his civic duty with a smile – is the last thing he’ll ever be.

And yet. He can see her debating with herself, see that conflict in her eyes, and can easily imagine her thoughts. What if things are different now? What if that school changed him? What if he met people there who made him realize that the world isn’t so bad after all?

“That’s wonderful to hear,” she says in the end. “I’m glad he was such a help to you. Where do I go to sign him out, if you don’t mind me asking? Unless you still need him for something…?”

“No, no, he’s welcome to leave at any time. Just give your information to the woman at the desk over there,” Detective Matsumoto says, pointing across the room. “She’ll take care of the rest.”

She thanks him and fetches her purse from the floor with an embarrassed smile, and as she turns to walk towards the reception desk the detective takes a step closer to Kaito. His eyes are dark and thoughtful. He leans in and puts a firm, forceful hand on Kaito’s shoulder.

“Anyone who claims ‘honesty is the best policy,’” he murmurs, “is either naïve, a dumbass, or some combination of the two.”

.

.

_three weeks._

He’s slowly growing weary of his bedroom.

Which is strange, because he missed it while at Kamui Daimon – or missed having a place of his own, rather, a place all to himself without anyone looking at him or crowding him or yammering pointlessly in his ear. But you spend enough time staring blankly at the walls and any room is destined to lose its charm, which is the sad reality he’s headed towards at this very moment, as his eyes trace the same cracks in the plaster over and over again. (This morning he woke up and felt oddly disappointed when he realized where he was – when he realized he was home instead of at school. But it’s not like he misses it. God, no. It’s not like he misses Bunta’s obnoxious snoring or the sound of Yuno and Roy and the other early risers clattering around downstairs or the fact that sometimes in summer he could smell the ocean through the open window – )

He shifts restlessly in his bed. His legs are beginning to fall asleep, and he considers allowing the rest of himself to follow suit. He’s been awake for what, seven hours now? That’s plenty of time spent in the land of the living. Might as well just go back to bed. Might as well just close his eyes again because it’s not as if anything is going to change, he’ll wake up and he’ll still be here in his dim, cramped bedroom with the eyes of his Nightmare watching him accusingly. It’s sitting on his desk, gathering dust, and he tries to remember what he used to feel when he looked at it. Excitement, maybe? Satisfaction? Anticipation?

Nowadays, all he feels is ill.

His eyelids are gradually fluttering shut when the doorbell rings. It startles him more than he’d care to admit, jolting him out of his almost-sleep, heart pounding as the noise reverberates through the quiet apartment. He sighs, aggravation prickling at the back of his neck as he buries his face in his pillow. Probably a salesman or a “well-meaning” neighbor or some other nuisance. Not worth the trouble of getting up.

But then the doorbell rings again. And again. He frowns; props himself up and reaches over to tap the tablet on his bedside table. He brings up the video feed for the front door and – 

“Kaito,” Nozomi says, voice coming in tinny and hollow through the speaker, staring straight up into the camera. Her arms are folded across her chest and she’s got that _look_ in her eye – that almost-motherly combination of exasperation and long-suffering patience. Bunta is peering nervously over her shoulder. “We know you’re in there. Open the door, please.”

He stares back at the screen, disbelief (and a hint of dread, if he’s being honest) hitting him like a punch to the gut. Nozomi raises an eyebrow. With wary slowness, Kaito reaches over and taps the button to close out of the video feed. He lays down again and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. This can’t be happening. Maybe if he waits long enough they’ll just go away – 

The doorbell rings for a fourth time, and he curses under his breath as he finally hauls himself out of bed.

.

“How did you get my address?”

“Technology is an amazing thing, Kaito,” Nozomi says, and her smile is a touch wry. “You can learn a great deal just by putting someone’s name through an Infinity Search. Now are you going to invite us inside, or should we continue standing here, attracting attention from your neighbors?”

He scowls and hesitates for a moment before stepping aside, allowing them in. Bunta has been giving him a rather startled look since he opened the door, which he takes to mean “you look like shit.” This, he will not deny. Several weeks of odd sleeping patterns and very little sunlight will ruin most anyone’s good looks. He’s been wearing the same tattered old clothes for four days straight, and his hair is hanging loose and uncombed around his shoulders.

“Where’s Tadashi?” he asks, slamming the door shut behind them.

“He couldn’t make it,” Nozomi says. She removes her shoes with meticulous care, then looks at Kaito pointedly until he sighs and rummages around for some house slippers, placing them in front of her and Bunta.

“‘Couldn’t make it,’ or ‘didn’t want to come’?”

“Couldn’t make it,” she repeats firmly. “His parents have taken him on an impromptu vacation to Australia. I think they’re hoping to get his mind off things.”

Kaito can’t help but laugh at that. “Good fucking luck,” he mutters. 

He leads them into the kitchen and takes a seat at the table, gesturing for them to sit as well. No sooner has Nozomi done so than her gaze turns expectant. Bunta opens his mouth as if to say something but seems to decide against it at the last moment.

“What?” Kaito demands, narrowing his eyes. “If you’re waiting to be served tea or something, you’ve come to the wrong place. I’m not exactly in the mood to play host, sorry to say. The hell are you doing here, anyway?”

“Do we really need a reason to visit a friend?” Nozomi asks.

“We wanted to invite you out with us,” Bunta blurts out. When they both turn to look at him he seems to shrink back in his seat. “I mean… if you want. Nowhere special. Just… downtown. And stuff. For fun, y’know?”

It’s Kaito’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Invite me out?” he echoes. “… Oh, I see. This is pity, right? Pity for your poor, pathetic ex-captain, who must be wallowing in self-hatred and misery this very moment? It’s all very tragic. And you just _love_ to help sad people, don’t you, Nozomi? Clearly it’s your duty to come cheer me up.”

Bunta is starting to look a bit nervous, but Nozomi is calm; merely stares at him with a mild, unimpressed set to her features.

“But you do know I’m not worthy of your pity, right?” Kaito continues, pressing a hand to his heart. He takes pleasure in the fake sentimentality that drips from each word. “You do realize that I wasn’t just ‘led astray’? I wasn’t manipulated or – what’s the word the police used? ‘Coerced’? No, I definitely wasn’t coerced. I _chose_ what I did of my own free will. And you know what? I’d make the same choice again, a hundred times over – ”

He’s cut off as Nozomi slaps him hard across the face.

The room falls abruptly silent. Kaito blinks. Slowly, he lifts a hand, pressing the tips of his fingers to his stinging cheek. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Bunta’s mouth hanging open in shock.

“I’m sorry,” Nozomi says, and she looks genuinely apologetic. “That was rather violent of me. But you shouldn’t tell such pathetic lies, Kaito. If you’re going to be dishonest, then for god’s sake at least make it believable. Now, come on. Get showered, get dressed, get your act together. We’ll wait as long as it takes. Won’t we, Bunta?”

Bunta nods hurriedly. His is the face of a man who knows better than to disagree.

“Will there be more physical abuse if I refuse to comply?” Kaito asks, and can feel himself smile despite everything. The sting of Nozomi’s slap is fading into an honest-to-god ache. Who knew she had such an arm on her?

“I’d rather not resort to such things, but I’m willing to do what needs to be done,” Nozomi says, with a kind of exaggerated gravitas that amuses Kaito. _Has she always been so sarcastic?_ he wonders. (Or perhaps… has she changed because of his influence? The thought is oddly pleasing.)

“Fine, fine,” he sighs. He pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes or so. Amuse yourselves however you please in the meantime. …Honestly, you people should feel honored. I wouldn’t get dressed for just anyone, you know.”

He’s almost to the hallway when a thought occurs to him. He pauses mid-step and turns back to look at them, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Oi,” he says quietly. “Why are you doing this? Spending time with me, I mean?”

Nozomi and Bunta seem to ponder this. They exchange a meaningful glance and a half-hearted shrug.

“Because,” Bunta says matter-of-factly. “You may be a bit of dick, but you’ll always be our captain.”

.

.

_five months._

“Oi, Fuujin. Is it true you went to that LBX school?”

Kaito lifts his eyes from his CCM and sighs inwardly. The kid leaning over his desk – Yamaoka? Yamashita? something like that – is grinning like an idiot, clearly pleased with himself for having been brave enough to approach Kaito. He keeps glancing across the room at his pack of dumbfuck friends, like he’s seeking their approval.

“…Maybe,” Kaito says, snapping his CCM shut and leaning back in his chair. “What’s it to you?”

The kid (Yamamura, that’s it) laughs and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Hey man, no need to get defensive. I’m just curious, is all. So you were there when… y’know. When all that crazy terrorist shit went down?”

“‘Crazy terrorist shit’ isn’t the description _I’d_ use, but… Yes. I was.”

“Woah…” Yamamura’s eyes are bright. “That’s crazy, dude. I heard that some people legit _died_. And I heard a bunch of kids used their LBXs to fight back, like some kind of badass rebel alliance. Were you part of that?”

Kaito stares up at him, carefully blank-faced. He is struck, then, by the sudden realization that he is currently at the perfect height/angle to punch Yamamura-kun in the balls. Oh, sweet temptation.

“Sadly, no,” he says instead, with a grim, tight-lipped smile. “I’m a bit of a coward, you see. Fighting back isn’t really my style.”

.

The courtyard – his typical lunchtime retreat – has been far more crowded than he prefers as of late, with a few noisy girls slowly but surely encroaching upon his personal bubble. And so, despite the “No Entry Permitted” sign blocking off the stairwell, he decides upon the roof as the next best place to spend his lunch breaks. When he gets there, though, fully prepared to jimmy the lock open with a hairpin, he instead finds the door already ajar. Someone has gotten there ahead of him. The girl in question glances up from her sketchbook when he opens the door, surprise written on her face, and – 

He knows her. Petite and unassuming, hair cropped at the chin, with an anxious disposition and a near-constant blush darkening her cheeks. 

“Oh,” Sonoyama Hanako says, a tad breathless. “Fuujin-kun… Y-you go here as well?”

“…So it would seem,” Kaito says. He doesn’t mean to stare at her, but finds himself doing so anyhow, frowning as she fidgets beneath his gaze. _This_ is entirely unexpected. He chose this school for how out of the way it was, for how unlikely it was that anyone would know him. It’s funny, almost, finding her here like this. Ironic. Like some sort of cosmic force is conspiring against him.

“You do realize the roof is off-limits, right?” he says, lowering himself down and leaning back against the sun-baked brick. “You never struck me as the rule-breaking type.”

Hanako laughs nervously, fiddling with the binding of her sketchbook. “Y-yeah, I guess not… It’s just… better up here. I don’t do so well around lots of people.”

Kaito ‘hmm’s thoughtfully. “I suppose that makes two of us,” he mutters.

They sit in silence for a time. The sound of muffled laughter drifts up from somewhere far below. An airplane cuts a swath of white across the empty blue sky. For early spring it’s strangely warm, with that dusty taste of sunlight in the air, but every now and again the wind will be undercut with a crisp chill.

“Why did you do it?” Hanako asks suddenly. Her voice is quiet, with a faint tremble to it, but when he glances over he finds her looking at him with resolve in her eyes.

Kaito raises an eyebrow. “Goodness, that was quick. Certainly not beating around the bush, are we?”

“And I don’t mean why you betrayed Jenock,” Hanako continues. The words are tumbling out eagerly, now, and he wonders if this is something she’s rehearsed in her head. “Well, I guess I do, but mostly I mean… What made you think about those things to begin with? Society and politics and – and war? What made you hate everything like that? I… I always wondered why you seemed so angry all the time, and I never understood.”

Kaito blinks at her, somewhat taken aback. If anything she seems even more surprised, her face and ears flushing bright red as the reality of her outburst catches up to her. She struggles to hold his gaze, warring visibly against embarrassment.

“…You really want to know?” he says, and she hesitates before nodding. 

For a moment he debates with himself. Perhaps this isn’t the best idea. Perhaps it would be better to leave certain things buried in the depths of the ‘net. But it’s not like he can refuse a direct request from a former comrade-in-arms. He slides his CCM from his pocket and flips it open; establishes a weak-but-serviceable Infinity Net connection and types in that old, nostalgic URL.

“When I was thirteen or so,” he says, “I stumbled upon a… rather _interesting_ website. Wasn’t much there, really. Just some cryptic text and shitty old graphics. But… hidden in the code for the site were these links to video files. Each one of the videos was just this guy talking to the camera, except you could barely see his face it was so dark, and you could tell he’d run his voice through some kind of program.”

The page is finally loaded, and he hands his CCM over to Hanako, who moves closer in order to take it from him. She holds it gingerly, warily almost, apprehension evident as she presses the ‘play’ button on the video. Kaito watches it out of the corner of his eye. The audio crackles to life and there he is – the mystery man in the shadows, hood drawn over his face, dark glasses reflecting the blinking light of a webcam.

“Right now, at this very moment,” he says, words distorted and mechanical-sounding, “you are being lied to.” 

Were he asked to do so, Kaito could recite this entire video from memory. (As it were he finds himself unwittingly mouthing the words. How embarrassing. His thirteen-year-old self would be so proud.)

“The lie is thus: you are being told that you matter. You do not. You are being told that your opinions, your beliefs, your _values_ are important. They are not. Why? Because you, watching this video right now, are not one of _them_. You are poor, you are disenfranchised, you are small. An insignificant speck of human life, destined to be little more than a cog in the machine. You were not born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You were not graced with the privilege of a trust fund. You know what it's like to want for something and _you do not matter_. Not to them, at least. Where you consider yourself intelligent, they see a dog being led by its collar. Where you consider yourself multifaceted, they see only the money in your wallet, slim as it may be. Where you consider yourself unique, they see only another faceless component of the huddled masses.

“And you can do nothing to change this. Their grip on this world is too strong, a chokehold squeezing the life from society. Their roots go too deep. For decades – for longer than that, even – they’ve ruled this world, and no matter how hard you protest, no matter the noise you make, in the end not a single thing will change. The status quo will not waver. Your voice is a mere whisper next to theirs. ‘So what is there?’ you say. There is nothing. Nothing except all-out revolution. This world is sick. It is worthless and diseased. The cancer of war and greed and inequality has rotted it away from the inside out. To heal it would require an all-encompassing ‘reset,’ a return to a simpler way of being, but even then it is not guaranteed – ”

Hanako pauses the video. She stares down at the screen in silence for a long moment, brow furrowed thoughtfully.

“…Do you still believe this?” she asks. Her voice is hushed, as if she were telling some great secret.

Kaito laughs bitterly. He remembers being thirteen and watching that video and being so convinced of its truth. He remembers watching his mother leave for her second job and counting the lines of tiredness around her eyes and _hating_ the people who had everything, the people who lived in mansions instead of crumbling apartments and never had to worry about bills paid just a little too late. And that hatred is still there. It’s too much a part of him to ever disappear completely. But nowadays, it seems, there is a veil drawn over his emotions. Often he will reach inside himself for anger and find only apathy. 

“Hell if I know,” he sighs. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

Hanako nods slowly. “I think he’s right, in a way,” she says. “Society is really unfair. But… he’s also wrong, don’t you think? There’s so many good people in the world, and so many beautiful things.” She looks at the screen again, at the paused image of the man in the shadows. “I wonder if he ever realized it?”

Kaito isn’t sure what to say to that. In the distance he can hear the sound of the bell signifying the end of lunch break, and Hanako seems to remember herself, then, stammering and blushing as she presses his CCM back into his hand.

“A-are you coming?” she asks, as she tucks her sketchbook beneath her arm and gets to her feet.

“Nah,” he mutters. He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. The sunlight tinges the inside of his eyelids gold. “I’m skipping next period.”

“…Oh,” Hanako says. “I-I see.”

He hears her footsteps and assumes she’s gone, but then she speaks again.

“Fuujin-kun, do you still play LBX?”

He opens one eye. She’s lingering in the doorway, head bowed and hair hanging down like a curtain, hiding her face from view.

“…Not so much,” he says. “Unfortunately.”

“Yeah,” she says softly. “Yeah, I…” She clears her throat. “It scares me a bit. I don’t know how Catherine and Yuno and the others can still do it. I look at my LBX and I just start remembering things…” She turns to glance at him and her smile is sad. “But I guess I’m just being silly, aren’t I? I’ll have to get over it eventually.”

Once again, Kaito is lost for words. He opens his mouth and closes it again. What is there for someone like him to say?

“Thank you for talking to me, Fuujin-kun,” Hanako says. She inclines her head respectfully, as if she were talking to a teacher instead of a fellow student. “I’ll… see you around, maybe?”

And then she’s gone, and Kaito is left alone on the roof, staring at the empty space where she just stood.

 _Fear?_ he thinks. _Is that what that sick feeling is whenever I look at my Nightmare?_

(But no. That’s not possible. What reason does he have to be afraid?)

.

.

_seven years._

He doesn’t check his work e-mail very often. Seems like it’s nothing but tedious company newsletters, interspersed here and there with invitations to parties he would rather eviscerate himself than attend. And so, when Uehara in the cubicle next to his peers over the divider and asks, “hey Fuujin, you’ve heard about it, right?”, Kaito has no clue what the hell he’s talking about.

“Heard about what?” he murmurs, absently tapping away at a thrilling game of solitaire.

“…Seriously?” Uehara’s eyes are wide. “You need to check your e-mail ASAP, man. There’s some shit going down.”

Kaito sighs and does as instructed. He signs in to his e-mail. He skims through a few pointless reminders about the company’s energy conservation policies, most of them passive-aggressively directed at “the absentminded person who keeps forgetting to turn the break room lights off.”

And then he sees it. 

_To our esteemed employees,_

_The rumors are true! We are pleased to announce the up-and-coming merger of Veritech Co. and none other than the esteemed Isogai Enterprises! Sadly Veritech will not retain its name or trademarks after this occurrence, but we know that the Veritech identity, spirit, and values will live on through your continued hard work…_

Kaito stares vacantly at the screen. He reads the first two sentences again, and again after that, just to make sure this isn’t some horrible invention of his boredom-addled mind. (He wishes it were. That would be alarming but not nearly as awful.)

“Oh, you have _got_ to be shitting me,” he hisses.

“Right?” Uehara says. “This company has been in the hole for two years now. It’s obviously an acquisition, not a merger. And it’s not even a semantics issue – they’re two completely separate things! Fucking idiots, the lot of them. This is why none of us take them seriously…”

But Kaito is barely listening to Uehara’s rant. (He’s too busy calculating his chances of getting fired before said “merger” takes place.)

.

Unfortunately, two weeks later and he still has a job.

Which is strange, because the criticism far outweighed the praise on his most recent performance review. On all of his performance reviews, actually. He’s fairly sure the words “doesn’t work well with others” have been permanently etched into his file.

Uehara has been sacked, though, which means his wellspring of workplace gossip has suddenly gone dry. There’s no one else in the office he tolerates enough to talk to. And so when Wednesday rolls around, Kaito is perhaps the only one caught off guard by a visit from their new, Isogai Industries-approved regional manager.

“My name is Isogai Gendou,” he says, after they’re all settled in the conference room. “And from this point onwards I will be the supervisor for this branch. I look forward to working with all of you.”

Surrounded by the hushed whispers of his coworkers, Kaito briefly contemplates hurling himself out the window. 

He may have to revise his stance on the nonexistence of karma.

.

Where his own hair is longer than it was seven years ago – tied back in a high ponytail for convenience – Gendou’s is now short, leaving him open-faced in a way that’s almost unsettling. With the utilitarian haircut and the well-fitted grey suit he looks every inch the silver-tongued businessman. Kaito eyes him warily from across the desk and receives a look of mild interest in return.

“I have to say, out of all the people I could’ve found working in a cubicle, I expected you least of all.”

“Really?” Kaito sneers. “And why is that?”

“…I’m not entirely sure, to tell the truth. Understanding people – compartmentalizing them, one might say – has always been a talent of mine, but you… You confuse me.”

“Logically or sexually?”

Gendou’s lips twitch. “I’m glad to see that you’re still the same, Kaito. Everything else has changed so much. Your barely-concealed irritation and snide comments have a rather comforting nostalgia to them.”

“Is that why I still have a job, then? Some sort of creepy, nostalgia-fueled nepotism?”

This gets an actual laugh out of Gendou, restrained though it may be. “Nepotism? Goodness, no. Nepotism is me, sitting here behind this desk, barking out orders to those twice my age and twice my experience level.”

“So you’ve achieved basic self-awareness, have you?” Kaito mutters. “Congratu-fucking-lations.”

If Gendou hears this comment he makes no sign of it. “You’ve been kept on because I think you have potential,” he says. “I think you could do well in a management position.”

Kaito stares at him blankly. “…Are you touched in the head, Gendou? You do remember what happened last time I was put in charge of people, right?”

“Yes, I do. But it’s interesting, don’t you think? How your platoon still cared about you, believed in you, even after you turned your back on them? To be liked and respected by your subordinates, despite being a supremely unlikable person… That is a skill not many possess. And it’s the kind of thing that sets great leaders apart from the good more often than not.”

Kaito sighs and drags a hand across his face tiredly. “I come in here hoping to lose this shitty job and you offer me a promotion? Fucking hell.”

Gendou raises a bemused eyebrow. “Hoping to lose this job?” he echoes. “Do you have something else lined up?”

“Nope. Not a damn thing. I just want out. I’m sick of this office and these godawful people. But quitting would mean admitting defeat, so if you could just fire me and get it over with I would be so _very_ grateful.”

Gendou leans back in his seat, a contemplative frown curving his lips.

“I have to admit,” he says slowly. “I find that to be a very odd outlook. Tossing aside a career on a whim… I always assumed that those who came from nothing were more appreciative of what they had.”

Kaito’s laugh is sharp and incredulous. “Oh, please,” he sneers. “That might be the single most naïve rich-boy sentiment I’ve ever fucking heard. You really think us _common folk_ don’t take things for granted? Because we do. It’s almost like we’re… human just like you? Wow. Imagine that.”

“You know very well that’s not what I meant to imply,” Gendou sighs.

“No, no, I’m sure you didn’t. Because you’re the worst kind of smug, rich asshole: the kind who thinks you’re ‘above all that.’ You’re not like those _other guys_ , are you? You’d never let money or status go to your head. You’re just so damn _enlightened_. People come from miles around to bask in the glow of your god-given wisdom! All hail Isogai Gendou, champion of egalitarianism!”

Gendou seems thoroughly unimpressed. “Are you done?” he asks, in that infuriatingly calm voice, like he’s speaking to a petulant, tantrum-throwing child.

“Oh, I could keep going,” Kaito says. “I could easily rant at you for days on end, if not longer. Or you could fire me instead, and spare yourself the agony. The choice is yours, _Young Master_.”

“No.”

“…No?”

“No.” Gendou shrugs. “If you were to swallow your pride and resign I certainly wouldn’t lift a finger stop you, but I am not going to fire you. No matter what strange threats you might level at me. Did you think I was joking about promoting you to a managerial position? Because I wasn’t. I believe you have the necessary skills and mindset to succeed, and I am not going to let you go so easily. I want you to continue at this company, Kaito. I want you working beneath me.”

“… Did you just purposefully include a double entendre in the hopes that I might make a snarky comment?”

“Perhaps,” Gendou says. His smile is faint and inscrutable. “So what do you say?”

Kaito desperately wants to say no. He wants to take Gendou by surprise and watch that flawless composure falter. God, it would be so satisfying. But then he thinks of the hassle of finding another job – searching for openings and submitting resumes and sitting through interview after mind-numbing interview. And little by little he can feel his irritation fading into weary resignation.

“You’re going to be the worst boss in the world, aren’t you?” he mutters, and Gendou merely laughs.

.

.

_seven years and one day._

“Did you get the package I sent you?” his mother asks, her image projected on the holoscreen. “Have you been eating well? You look so thin…”

“You say that every time you call, Mother.” He massages his temples tiredly. “Which is, by the way, three times a week. If not more. You really don’t need to check up on me so often.”

“Well of course I do,” she says, frowning. “I worry about you, you know. Living alone is hard, Kaito. Especially when you’re young. When I was your age I had no earthly clue what I was doing. Twenty-four year old me would have _appreciated_ someone checking in on me every once in a while.” She purses her lips and gives him an emphatic look. (Ah, the old guilt trip. No phone call from immediate family is complete without it.)

“Right, right,” he sighs. “My apologies. I should have said: ‘I am eternally grateful for your dedication towards my continued wellbeing.’”

“That’s more like it,” his mother says with a sunny smile. “Now, tell me: how are you?”

Kaito pauses. He’s absently flipping through an LBX magazine (yeah, so he hasn’t touched an LBX in years – so what? nothing wrong with browsing), and his hand stills against his tablet, stopping coincidentally on a page featuring a new model. Blue and silver armor and a sleek, streamlined design. _Hyperion,_ the advertisement reads. _The latest Strider-frame from Tiny Orbit! Equipped with an all-new, powerful armament – the Titan’s Halberd!_

Before his thoughts can catch up, he’s already pressing the ‘purchase’ button in the top right corner. A message pops up saying ‘Thank you for your business!’ He stares at the order confirmation screen in equal parts disbelief and exhilaration.

“Kaito,” his mother sighs. “Are you ignoring me? I asked how you are!”

“...I’m good,” he says, and for the first time in a long time, he means it.


End file.
